Grave Digger
by YinYangofthePeaceCircle
Summary: Sherlock is called to investigate what looks like usual human stupidity-aliens, after all, don't exist...Or do they? When Lestrade and Watson are kidnapped by the infamous Grave Digger killer, Sherlock has just twenty-four hours to find his friends. This twenty-four hours will lead him to question everything he has ever lead himself to believe is true...Johnlock, Mystrade


_Grave Digger_

_AN:_

_Hints of Mystrade and Johnlock. Because I'm _that_ fan. _

_This was a request for RJL7983, on DeviantART, who requested a story where Sherlock finds an alien spacecraft. Based heavily on 'Aliens in a Spaceship', S2E9 of 'Bones'. Just remember, everyone, things aren't always what they seem….but sometimes, they're exactly that…._

~*0*~

_Unknown_

John Watson groaned and opened his eyes slowly. He looked around. Huh. That was funny. What was he doing in a car? The light was on. He looked around it a bit more, inspecting it. It looked like one of Mycroft's. He couldn't remember much-had he borrowed it? Maybe.

The radio was on. Static crackled over the song playing, which was _Call Me Maybe _by Carly Rae Jepsen. Groaning at the sound, Watson shut it off and looked around. It was very dark outside.

He began to roll down the window, but let out a small cry as rocks and earth fell through the partially opened window. He hurriedly rolled it back up.

Why did his neck hurt? He rubbed it with the back of his hand and winced in pain. That stung-!

He heard a groan from the backseat and turned around to look. "Ow-where am I?"

"Lestrade!"

"John? John Watson?" Lestrade looked up. "God, my head hurts…and my legs."

"I think you've been drugged," Watson told him, looking him over. "I think you were hit by a car, too, like Marcus Miller. Your legs don't look good. I've been burned. I think it was a modified stun gun, like the one used on Derek."

"Where are we?" asked Lestrade, taking a look around. "Are we in a car?"

"He got us," said John, voicing the fear for the first time. "He buried us alive. _The Grave Digger_."

~*0*~

_One Week Earlier_

Sherlock paced curiously around the thing. It was very large, and, like the men who had called him to investigate it had described it, it very closely resembled something out of a science fiction movie.

It was cylindrical, with odd, almost pipe-like tendrils snaking around it. It was lying on one side, half-buried. This morning it _had_ been buried; a construction crew had uncovered it while digging the foundation of a new building. A dusty window was in the side that had been unearthed.

"Why exactly was I called here?"asked Sherlock in his usual brisk, pompous manner.

"They said there's a coupla aliens hugging in there," Lestrade responded. "Figured you could help us out."

Sherlock scoffed. "_Aliens_ don't exist, Lestrade. I would have thought even _you _would know that."

"Sherlock," said Watson, surprised. Sherlock was being very rude today; usually jibes like that were for special cases, like…Anderson.

"I've looked in there," Lestrade said defensively. "There's something weird in there, just look!"

Sherlock shook his head. "_Lestrade_…"

The world's only consulting detective walked over to the 'spacecraft' and peered in the window. He felt his blood turn to ice, his heart skip a beat-because Lestrade was right. Something not of this world was in the cylinder. Actually, two somethings.

Their skin was pasty white, shriveled and dead looking. They held each other with claw-like hands, their heads raised as if speaking to the sky. Their mouths were bared in silent screams. Or gasps.

They wore what appeared to be red jumpsuits, or spacesuits. They were sitting on the floor, clutching each other in some morbid-looking almost ritual-like hug.

Sherlock turned away, panic flooding his brilliant mind. _They really looked like_ _aliens_, he told himself.

_But they can't be_, his rational side argued.

Watson and Lestrade stared at Sherlock, both coming to the conclusion that Sherlock Holmes was stuck. He had no idea what was in there.

_But I_ saw _them_, Sherlock thought, terrified. _What can I trust, if not my eyes?_

~*0*~

_St. Bart's, Sherlock's Lab_

Sherlock was at the lab, running tests. _They weren't aliens_, he told himself fiercely. _There's another clue you haven't considered_.

"Hey, Sherlock," said a voice, and Sherlock looked up to see a graying Lestrade. "Thought you might like to know what we've figured out on this case so far."

He tossed down a rather impressive file for having no information earlier, which even Sherlock was forced to admit.

Sherlock began flipping through the file, reading over the documents while Lestrade explained them so as to fill in Watson as well, who had been sitting in the corner, only doing more than reading the paper when Sherlock asked for something to be handed to him.

"They were a coupla kids," Lestrade reported. "Twins. Derek and Marcus Miller. Found in an old beer vat. They looked the way they did because of dehydrated tissue, according to the forensic anthropologist's report."

_So it wasn't a spaceship_, Sherlock thought, relived. _And they weren't aliens_.

"Kidnapped three years ago by the Grave Digger," Lestrade continued.

Sherlock looked up eagerly. "A Grave Digger victim who didn't make it has been found?"

"Technically, two have," Lestrade replied.

"Sorry, who's the Grave Digger?" asked Watson, thoroughly confused.

"A serial kidnapper. Kidnaps his victims and buries them underground. Then he calls the families, disguises his voice, and demands a ridiculous ransom to be sent to an untraceable bank account overseas for the coordinates to the kidnapped person. If the families don't pay, the victims suffocate. Five families have paid the ransom and gotten their loved ones back. Nine haven't and their loved ones have never been found," Lestrade explained.

"Until now." Excitement tingled like some sort of drug in Sherlock's veins. "What else is there?"

"They were given 24 hours of air. Their father ignored the ransom call and never found. Derek appears to have been subdued with a stun gun; Marcus wasn't, though. It appears that he was hit by a car. There was a lot of blood in the car, too, according to Anderson. Though, according to him, Marcus's injuries weren't severe enough to cause the bleeding."

"Interesting," said Sherlock slowly. "Very interesting. Watson, Lestrade,

There was a ring from Lestrade's mobile phone. "One moment. Hello?"

~*0*~

_One Week Later_

Sherlock was very pleased-and frustrated. Six new Grave Digger bodies- _SIX_, goddammit -and he was no closer to catching the bastard. They had turned up in various prisons (none quite as 'alien' as the beer vat) including a small yellow submarine (no joke), a few large coffins, and an old modified refrigerator with all of the shelves and drawers removed, essentially making it a box.

They had figured out why there was so much blood in the vat-Marcus had used a pen to puncture his carotid artery. Severeing the artery had killed him in moments-and given his brother more time. It was concluded that was the reason they were found hugging each other.

So many victims. So many deaths- and yet, the Grave Digger was winning. He was a sick, but clever, bastard. Even Sherlock couldn't deny that.

~*0*~

_In The Woods_

This craft looked exactly like a UFO out of the movies. It was a saucer shape, was covered in flashing lights, and did not have two dead extraterrestrials in it.

It had three living ones. He wished he was not alone in the forest searching for more evidence to track down the Grave Digger, but Watson and Lestrade were off doing something. He'd heard mention of dinner and then going over the case files. To anyone else, it might have sounded like a date, but Sherlock knew for a fact Lestrade was dating his elder brother, Mycroft (He'd had enough tact not to tell anyone until they did; where he got tact, nobody would ever know).

The first was the leader. She had a dog face, maybe a collie, medium-flop ears, brown, slightly wavy fur with black markings, two large black feathered wings, and yellow, slitted cat eyes.

The second was the navigator of the ship. He had a reptilian face, green human-looking eyes, violet scales, and red bat wings.

The final alien was eagle-faced, but with fur and paws like a bear. He had no wings, but rounded the 'monster' aspect of the creature off were the demon-like spikes running down its back.

All three were humanoid and stood at least eight feet tall, the leader maybe being nine.

The leader looked at Sherlock. Then in a high, cool voice she asked, "Are you Sherlock Holmes of 221b Baker Street?"

"Yes," stammered Sherlock. "Who are you?"

"I am called CrysLyn," the leader replied. "These are SynSyc," she gestured to the reptile-faced alien, "and BynSar. We have reason to believe one of our kind is hidden on this planet. She calls herself the 'Grave Digger'?"

"Erm, yes," Sherlock said, feeling very short. "I'm looking for the Grave Digger as well, you see."

"We knew," hissed SynSyc carelessly. CrysLyn shot her companion a furious look. He had the decency to appear slightly abashed.

Sherlock's mobile rang then. "Do you mind…?"

"No," CrysLyn said gravelly. "You will want to take it."

Sherlock allowed the call, and felt his heart stop. "_I have kidnapped John Watson and Gregory Lestrade,_" growled the voice on the other end. "_They are buried alive. If you do not wire eight million dollars in the following bank account, they will run out of air and die. This will be my final communication._"

BynSar growled when Sherlock hung up. "It is TyjRik," He announced. "We will have to find her."

"Sherlock," growled CrysLyn, "do not pay her ransom. We will help you find your friends."

She pushed a button on a bracelet around one wrist. SynSyc and BynSar followed her example, and suddenly there were all about five feet tall, though the leader was still a bit taller than the other two. "Come," she ordered. "We will find them."

~*0*~

_In The Car_

John inspected Lestrade's legs. "There's something here…" he pulled a small piece of something out of Lestrade's leg. After a five minute pause he said, "I think it's a bumper sticker."

"I was hit by a car!" Lestrade asked, sounding annoyed.

"We already knew that," Watson reminded him.

"Yeah, but now we have proof and I find I'm really pissed off," Lestrade growled.

In any other situation, Watson reflected, he probably would have laughed. But when you're buried alive… well, humor isn't exactly a priority.

"So, what have we got in here?" asked Lestrade.

Watson looked around. "Quite a lot of water bottles," he began, tossing one to Lestrade, who caught it easily. "There's also a camera, both our mobiles, um, I think this is a small amount of really expensive perfume, and, ironically, two murder mystery novels."

"Great," hissed Lestrade through clenched teeth. "We can read them to each other if we get bored."

"Oh, and some dirt, a pocketknife, and a handful of pens," Watson finished, showing the pens to Lestrade.

"That one's a laser pointer," Lestrade corrected. "Damn, my legs-!"

Watson winced as he looked Lestrade over. "I'm afraid you might have compartment syndrome."

"Is it terminal?" asked Lestrade, somehow managing not to look frightened at all.

"No," said Watson. "But it will get painful."

"How painful?"

"Go-Into-Shock-And-Die painful."

"That's cheery."

"There is something I could do to relieve the pressure," said Watson quickly. "But it'll hurt. A lot."

"Better than dying," said Lestrade, wincing as he sat up. "Let's do it."

~*0*~

_221b Baker Street_

CrysLyn surveyed the flat. SynSyc and BynSar were running tests with their more advanced equipment.

She turned to Sherlock. "Why was the ransom so high?"

"What?" asked Sherlock. They had been asking 'yes' or 'no' questions mostly; things like 'Does Watson usually sleep in the flat?' or 'Does Lestrade visit fairly frequently?'

"The ransom. Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Holmes, but I do not believe you would be able to pay it. So why would TyjRik demand so much of you?"

"Usually," rumbled BynSar in his rumbling, deep voice, "She only demands as much as you can afford."

"Then…then it must be she knows about Lestrade and Mycroft!" Sherlock said, realizing this for the first time.

"What about them?" asked SynSyc, staring at Sherlock.

"Mycroft and Lestrade are…well, they're in a relationship. And Mycroft is rich-he's basically the British government."

"That does explain it," CrysLyn said. "But we can't contact Mycroft; he'll send the ransom to her, and then we'll never capture TyjRik."

"Why are you after her, anyway?" asked Sherlock.

CrysLyn looked at him. Then she said, "Too explain that, I'll need to tell you more about SynSyc, BynSar, myself, and our races and planet…."

~*0*~

_In The Car_

Watson watched as Lestrade finished what he was writing. He had torn the blank page at the front out of the mystery novel-_Bred in the Bone _by Temperance Brennan-and was scribbling a letter onto it. It now rested on top of its sequel, _Red Tape, White Bones_.

Watson waited until Lestrade had folded the note before asking, "Done?"

"Yeah. If whatever you're about to do sends me into shock, I want him," he patted the letter, "to have something to remember me by."

"I get it."

"On the upside, me not breathing doubles your survival time so they can find you."

"I'm not interested in making it that way," Watson told him solemnly. The looked at each other. Lestrade looked at Watson as though he were crazy. Watson gave Lestrade a 'I'm-The-Guy-Holding-The-Knife-So-Don't-Screw-With-Me' look.

Watson held the pocketknife over Lestrade's leg. "Alright, to make this work, I'll have to make a long incision in your leg to relieve the pressure."

"How long is a long incision? No, wait," Lestrade said before Watson could speak. "Don't tell me."

Watson smiled sympathetically. "You should hold onto something. Here." He ripped a piece of his coat of the rest of the garment and handed it to Lestrade. "Bite this, it'll help."

Lestrade clutched the torn coat in his teeth and held onto the assist handles. "It's best if I do it quickly and without empathy," Watson told Lestrade. The DI nodded, tears of pain and fear sliding down his cheeks.

Watson held the pocketknife over his friend's leg. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Lestrade nodded fearfully. Watson lowered the knife-"Wait!" Lestrade gasped, spitting out the remnants of Watson's coat. Watson stopped, looking up at the Detective Inspector. "I love Mycroft," said Lestrade. Watson's eyes widened.

"When-?" asked John, staring at him in confusion.

"We've been going out for three months. And I'm crazy about him; over the moon. He's the one I left the note for."

Watson couldn't help feeling slightly puzzled and amused; he wasn't aware that they had even met, let alone that they liked each other like…well, like _that_.

"There. I said it out loud," Lestrade said quietly, a small sniff escaping, as he was still silently crying out of terror and agony. He replaced the coat in his teeth and tightened his grip on the assist handles.

"Don't fight passing out," Watson told him. And then the knife was cutting into Lestrade's leg. Pain as he had never known shot through the DI. He screamed through the gag, clutching the assist handles in death grips. The cut was getting longer, and blood was running down his leg. With a last shriek of anguish, darkness dominated Lestrade's vision. The world that was the car swam, and then blackness was all that was left.

~*0*~

_The Flat_

"My race is known as the DynSraks. SynSyc is a RynePyk, and BynSar is an AstrAkx." CrysLyn explained.

"Our races are all at peace. However, not long ago we were at war with each other. All hope seemed lost for our people, but then, a mysterious newcomer, of a race we did not know appeared. She persuaded our kinds to have peace. We made her a Queen, believing she was clever and good. But she used our ignorance-and her power- to create further turmoil. She kidnapped many of our dearest, most influencing members of our communities and buried them. Of course, no one knew she was to blame. We believed it to be the others, until a clever DynSrak escaped her clutches. He told us of her treachery, and all of us banded together, vowing to destroy the monster we had called 'LutDem'. In our mutual language, it means 'Angel'. We, SynSyc, BynSar, and myself, were chosen to capture and, if we could manage, bring back 'LutDem', who was now called a different name. But, should we fail that final bit of the mission, we were to bring her slain body back as proof that the evil had been destroyed.

"But she learned of our plot before it could be carried out. She was preparing to escape when SynSyc, BynSar and I found her. She was fleeing when I managed to scar her with a marking even she cannot hide." The DynSrak snarled fiercely.

"Which is?" asked Sherlock, apprehensively.

"She now carries the mark of the Devil's Feather, marking her as what she truly is: TyjRik!"

"What is a Devil's Feather?" asked Sherlock.

"It is a symbol of purest evil; one that you will easily know when you see her." CrysLyn growled.

"I have something," called SynSyc. "I found coal. And TyjRik's fur; she must be shedding if she came in her disguise."

"An excellent deduction, SynSyc." CrysLyn praised. It was clear that though they were of different race, they were all still quite good friends.

"I have something, too," BynSar called, raising his feathered head. "It's sulfur and sediment. And it's covered in her scent. She's definitely been here."

"What good will a lot of dirt do us?" Sherlock asked.

"It will be rare for these to be found in England all together," replied CrysLyn. "Come, Sherlock. We're off to find your friends."

~*0*~

_In The Car_

**_"BEEEEEEEEEPP!"_**

Lestrade jerked, his eyes opening quickly.

"Morning," smirked Watson. "How're your legs?"

"Better," Lestrade told him slowly, realizing it for the first time. "Loads better. Thanks."

"I am so glad I didn't kill you," Watson told him, inspecting the wheel of the car.

"You…could have…_killed_ me?" Lestrade asked, staring at Watson.

"See, this is why I didn't tell you earlier," Watson explained. "You wouldn't have let me perform the surgery."

"Damn right I wouldn't," Lestrade growled darkly. "What're you doing?"

"I figured out a way to rig a cell phone-seeing as both of ours are dead- to the car. When I honk the horn, we should have about six seconds to send a text."

"And what will we say? 'Goodbye'? 'Nice knowing you'?"

"What are we surrounded by?"

"Pain. Misery. And a subsoil accumulation of agglutinate arid sols."

"Dirt."

"Maybe no one's told you this, but no. I don't like the term dirt."

"All right. Tell me something I don't know," Watson challenged, passing Lestrade a handful of the dirt that had fallen into the car when he had unrolled the window.

Lestrade took it and inspected it. "Ash. Nitrogen, sulfur…"

"So? Where are we?"

"We're in coal country."

"Excellent. Too bad we can't tell Sherlock, 'Hey, we're in coal country, come get us before we die' if we only have six seconds to send a text message."

"Yeah," agreed Lestrade dully.

"Well, what should it say, then?"

"Mmm…I know!" Lestrade said, raising himself up on his arms a bit. "Text Sherlock and tell him, 'Northumberland'!"

"'Northumberland'?"

"No other place in England has this kind of coal except Northumberland!"

"Alright, but my texting's not that good."

"I've got fingers like lightning, I'll do it," Lestrade offered.

"Great. Here." Watson passed him the newly rigged phone.

"Sure it'll send?"

"We get radio reception." Watson demonstrated by turning on the radio. Lyrics filtered into the car:

_Cause you're the apple to my pie  
You're the straw to my berry  
You're the smoke to my high_ Tonight  
_And you're the one I wanna marry_

"Great!"

"You'll only have about six seconds. Sherlock's on speed dial. Make it fast."

"Got it."

"Ready?" Watson was poised, his hand over steering wheel's horn.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Lestrade replied, cautiously.

"On three. Ready? One…"

"Two…"

"THREE!" they said together. Watson pressed his hand down on the horn as hard as he could.

Lestrade began typing on the small phone keyboard as fast as he could. Then, there was a flash, sparks flew from the phone, and smoke began curling out of the case.

"Did it send?" asked Watson desperately.

"I think so," said Lestrade staring at the phone doubtfully. "All we can do now is concentrate on finding a way to get more air."

~*0*~

_In a Taxi Cab_

CrysLyn had used the bracelet on her wrist to create (or, in reality, replicate) a human disguise.

She had told SynSyc and BynSar to follow them from the spacecraft, which the two were doing without complaint.

Sherlock's phone signaled a text message. He was too distraught with worry for Lestrade and Watson-who were almost out of air- to really be interested in the message, but a dull hope that Sally or Anderson had good news was clawing at him, so he looked at the message.

"I don't believe it!" He half-whispered.

CrysLyn, who currently bore a striking resemblance to Mycroft's assistant Anthea, looked over to him. "What is it?"

"John texted me!" He showed her the message.

"That is certainly interesting. SynSyc! BynSar!" She was talking into her bracelet now.

A garbled, static sounding SynSyc answered. "What is it? Did we find something else?"

"Sure did! They sent us a message! 'Northumberland'!"

"BynSar!" barked SynSyc, "I'm going to have CrysLyn beam us the message! Try and pinpoint its origin!"

"Right away," growled BynSar's deep, gravelly voice.

Sherlock checked his watch and felt the last bit of hope drain out of him. A computer-generated voice, the Grave Digger's, rang in his ear.

_Time's up, Sherlock Holmes._

~*0*~

_In The Car_

Watson stabbed the pocketknife into the fabric again. Yellowing stuffing poured from the slashes, and with a shove, a portion of the middle seat in the back of the car fell into the truck.

Choking in relief, he used the precious knife to slash a tire and laughed weakly as air began to his out of it. Lestrade grinned, slapping him on the back. "Way ta go, John. Way ta go."

They sat with their faces pressed towards the tire for a few more minutes before Lestrade asked, "How much more time will this give us?"

"Not a lot," sighed John. "There are four more tires we can't get to, so…"

"Why do this, then?" asked Lestrade, gesturing weakly to the tire they had punctured. Watson looked questioningly at him, so he clarified, "Why postpone the inevitable? You said yourself, it's like falling asleep."

"Don't you think Sherlock is searching for us?" Watson countered, furious.

"If he were, he would have found us by now!" Lestrade shot back, just as angry.

"I'm not giving up!" John snarled fiercely. "You have Mycroft, don't you? Don't give up, Lestrade! Dammit!"

"I need the camera batteries and the preservative powder from your kit," said Lestrade suddenly.

"Wait-what?"

"Soda ash and lithium!" snapped Lestrade impatiently.

"You're-you're going to make a carbon dioxide scrubber?"

"Hey," laughed Lestrade, punching Watson's arm. "If you can produce surgery out of thin air, then I can make a little thin air out of thin air."

~*0*~

_In The Taxi_

"CrysLyn! BynSar's pinpointed the exact location the message was sent from!" SynSyc's voice yipped gleefully.

Sherlock was slightly surprised; the reptilian alien wasn't the type that seemed cheerful, ever. BynSar seemed a bit more likeable than SynSyc, maybe because he seemed more understanding to Sherlock's pain.

CrysLyn was practically yowling in joy. "Wonderful! Send me the coordinates. Driver!" she called to the cabbie.

"Ma'am?"

"Pull over here, thank you. Your payment," she added as she exited the cab with Sherlock once it was parked in front of a dingy looking café, "this, I think, is fair." And she tossed him quite a bit more money than was necessary.

"Thank you, ma'am," the cabbie stuttered, staring at the pile of pounds.

"Think nothing of it. You've been an excellent help," she replied, before turning to Sherlock. "Tell me," she asked, as the cabbie pulled away, "are you aware of how to _Airblade_?"

~*0*~

_In The Car_

Lestrade was scraping the lithium into an ashtray. "Soda ash and lithium reacts with high concentrations of carbon dioxide…." He poured water from one of the bottles into the mixture. "To produce oxygen!"

The ashtray began filling with foam, and Lestrade and Watson laughed in relief.

"Which gives us just enough time," grinned Watson.

"For what?" questioned Lestrade as Watson crawled back into the front seat of the car.

"For my next plan, which will kill us." He turned to grin at his companion. "Air bags."

"They aren't really bags of air, ya know," Lestrade told him testily.

"I'm not looking to extend our air supply. I'm looking to blast our way out of here."

"Using the explosives in those things?" asked Lestrade nervously.

Watson looked back and nodded.

"That could definitely kill us!" Lestrade managed, staring at him.

"So will doing nothing," Watson retorted. He turned to continue on the airbags.

Lestrade paused, before tearing the blank page at the front of _Red Bones, White Tape_ out of the covers of the mystery novel and asked, "Anyone you want to say 'goodbye' to?"

Watson paused, staring at the paper, before taking it, muttering a 'Thanks,' to Lestrade, and scribbling on the blank page.

~*0*~

_Somewhere Over England_

Sherlock clung to CrysLyn's fur for dear life.

As it turned out, 'Airblading' was basically rollerblading. In the sky.

The alien, or, the DynSrak, howled in exhilaration as she tore through the sky, speeding through puffs of cloud and shining sunlight.

"_Isn't this wonderful, Sherlock_?" yowled CrysLyn, as fresh air made her fur flow out behind her.

She was enjoying herself too much for Sherlock to confess his true feelings about Airblading, so he just called, "_Lovely_," and hoped he wouldn't vomit.

~*0*~

_In The Car_

Lestrade watched as Watson finished rigging a jumper cable scross the dashboard. "Can this possibly work?"

Watson shrugged, looking scared. "I'm not really a Moriarty," he replied. "But the dash might shape the charge enough to blow out the dash. If we're less than four feet under, this could send us to freedom."

"And if we're more than four feet under?"

"Then the concussion will turn our brains to jelly," Watson replied.

"Well, we can join the government, so it's a win-win," Lestrade joked half-heartedly.

"We should get as far away from the explosion as possible," Watson continued.

"I already am," Lestrade replied softly. "Care to join me?"

Watson smirked before crawling back into the backseat with the DI.

~*0*~

_Abandoned Coal Quarry_

The spacecraft carrying SynSyc and BynSar landed just as CrysLyn and Sherlock touched down.

The RynePyk and the AstrAkx exited the ship quickly, tailed by a figure wearing a three-piece suit and carrying an umbrella.

"Mycroft!" yelled Sherlock, running to his brother.

"Sherlock! They said Gregory's been buried alive!"

"It's true, it's all true," panted Sherlock. "They got John too."

"We will find them," growled BynSar.

"They have to be here!" snarled SynSyc. "Look for anything! Footprints, tire tracks, recent digging!"

The aliens scattered, while Mycroft and Sherlock held each other, staring around the vast expanse of quarry.

~*0*~

_In The Car_

"Ready?" asked Watson, glancing at Lestrade.

"Yeah. Doctor Watson?" John looked back over to Greg. "It's been a privilege." The DI held out his hand to shake, but Watson pulled him into a hug. They both clung to each other, feeling the fear in the other's body. Finally, they broke apart.

Lestrade took the two wires that would either save them or condemn them, and slowly put them together….

~*0*~

_Abandoned Coal Quarry_

_Sherlock raised his head as a puff of smoke, about fifty feet from where he stood, flew into the air. He took off running, willing himself to go faster, to save John, to rescue Lestrade._

_To save John._

_He crouched by the place where he'd seen the smoke and began digging furiously with his bare hands, until he grabbed someone. He grunted, straining to pull the person to safety._

_John's head broke free of the rubble, and he coughed, gripping Sherlock's arms in an effort to free himself from the car that had become a prison._

_"John!" Sherlock cried, hugging his blogger to his chest._

_"Get-Lestrade," choked Watson, holding onto Sherlock for dear life. "Get…Lestrade…."_

_"Gregory…C'mon…" Mycroft begged._

_SynSyc and BynSar began hurriedly clearing the earth away, and CrysLyn moved forward, lifting Lestrade from his would-be grave._

_"You're safe!" cried Mycroft, holding Lestrade, tears of relief flowing down his cheeks._

_"I'm lucky I got buried with a doctor," managed Greg, smirking up at Mycroft, who kissed him full on the lips, not caring that Sherlock, and John, and three aliens were watching them._

_"God, I love you, Myc," Lestrade laughed weakly, hugging Mycroft to him._

The perfect moment was slightly ruined as SynSyc raised his reptilian head and yowled, "I have her scent! We can track her!"

"First, we must take the two humans to the hospital. After which, I would be more than happy to deal with TyjRik," CrysLyn told him. SynSyc nodded eagerly; he couldn't wait to have the monster TyjRik at his mercy.

Sherlock stared at her. "I feel that these lives are more important than a hunt that has lasted millennia," CrysLyn explained.

~*0*~

_The Next Day, Scotland Yard_

Lestrade sat at his desk, reviewing the Grave Digger case files. Sherlock and the aliens had left to catch 'TyjRik', and wouldn't be back for a while.

He looked up at the sound of someone sitting in the chair next to him and looked around. "I came to visit you at the hospital. I brought you this." Mycroft smirked, nudging a small teddy bear with 'Get Well Soon' stitched across its chest and a red bow tied around its neck to him. "They said you'd left."

"Uh, yeah, yeah, they, um, let me go," Lestrade said. "Gave me some meds, fixed up my leg. I'm fine now."

"They did not," Mycroft contradicted. "You left without being discharged. You stole crutches. Which I paid for."

"Sorry," muttered Lestrade, turning back to his files.

"Look at me," ordered Mycroft quietly. Lestrade slowly raised his head to look at the man before him. "You were buried alive. Operated on without an anesthetic, although I am glad Watson realized he could save your life by doing it. Pumped full of drugs. You should be lying down."

"She's out there, Mycroft," whispered Lestrade. "Burying people alive."

"I know," Mycroft murmured. "But CrysLyn and her team will catch her, and you won't have to worry anymore."

"I can't sleep," Lestrade confessed.

"I thought they gave you something for that?" asked Mycroft, staring at the Silver Fox's gray eyes.

"No, I mean…I'm afraid," Lestrade confessed, staring up at Mycroft fearfully. "I'm scared that I'll close my eyes, and…when I open them, I'll be back in that car, buried alive, running out of air-" He choked slightly and turned away, shamefaced.

"Then we should go home," smiled Mycroft, rubbing soothing circles along Lestrade's back.

"Back…home…?" asked the DI uncertainly.

"Yes," said Mycroft, holding Lestrade. "And when you open your eyes, I'll be there," he promised.

"Are….are you sure?" asked Greg uncertainly.

"Positive," Mycroft replied.

"Alright."

~*0*~

_King's Cross Station_

"There she is!" snarled SynSyc, staring over at a woman who was standing between platforms nine and ten.

The aliens were disguised as Anthea, Lestrade, and Anderson, respectively.

Sherlock stared at her. He had expected to need to search for the Devil's Feather, but it was quite plain.

It was a black marking, like a makeup design, but obviously singed into her cheekbone. It was a wing, littered with what looked like bullet holes, and half of its feathers weren't feathers at all, but knives.

"_SEIZE HER_!" roared CrysLyn, and SynSyc and BynSar pounced on the female.

TyjRik gave an animalistic roar of rage, but CrysLyn yelled over her. "TyjRik, -known here as 'Heather Taffet'- you are under arrest for countless murderers under the false name 'LutDem' and the alias 'Grave Digger'. You have, of course, the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in the Council's Court. Do you understand?"

TyjRik snarled, fighting to free herself, but CrysLyn merely hissed fiercely, "_Do you understand_?"

"Yes, goddammit, I bloody understand!" screamed TyjRik.

"Good." CrysLyn turned, calling carelessly, "Take her away." The other two did so gleefully, dragging a writhing murderer out of the train station.

"I owe you my thanks, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," she murmured quietly. "Without your help, she would never have been seized."

"I owe you my thanks as well," Sherlock replied, not used to being quite so formal. "Without _your_ help, Lestrade and Watson would have died."

"Maybe," she suggested, smirking, "you are not as heartless as you would have others believe, hmm?"

Sherlock blushed, and muttered, "Well, maybe…"

"Come, I will drop you at your flat before returning to my home." She turned, leading him from the building.

~*0*~

_221b Baker Street_

John, Sherlock, Greg, and Mycroft all stood outside of the entrance to the flat, smiling as CrysLyn turned to go back into the spacecraft that had brought her, SynSyc, and BynSar to Earth.

"Thanks again, for helping us!" called Watson, waving.

"Yeah, thanks," Greg agreed, hugging Mycroft, who was leaning on his ever-present umbrella.

"We couldn't have done it without you," Sherlock told all of them, as SynSyc and BynSar were standing at the entrance to the spaceship.

"You are forever in our debt," Mycroft murmured, pulling Gregory closer to him.

"Just as you are forever in the debt of us and our peoples," murmured CrysLyn. "You have helped us to capture a great evil. And now, she shall be brought to justice for her crimes, I assure you."

SynSyc and BynSar nodded. "Because of you," hissed the reptilian RynePyk, "my sister's killer is at bay."

"We must leave now," murmured CrysLyn sadly. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. Until we meet again, John, Sherlock, Gregory, Mycroft…."

The platform leading into the craft rose slowly and then, she was gone. The craft, hidden to human eyes by advanced technology, rose higher into the air.

They watched it go, wondering if they would ever again hear from the DynSrak, CrysLyn, the RynePyk, SynSyc, or even the AstrAkx BynSar.

~*0*~

Far away, in the stars, those three wondered the same of the four humans, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes. Each now felt as though these humans had become their friends. And it was true….

_Parting was such sweet sorrow…._

_~*0*~_

_AN: It is finally done! I finally did my first oneshot! Although, I did love creating the character CrysLyn, SynSyc, and BynSar. I will be most sad to see them go. After all, parting is such sweet sorrow! I may make a sequel to this just to have more fun with these characters; but I don't know. Thoughts? _

_Anywho, RJL7983, I hope you enjoyed this lovely tale as much as I enjoyed spinning it! It was great fun, thanks!_

_Forever your humble writing servant,_

_~YinYangofthePeaceCircle and Riverthunder_


End file.
